


Undertow

by Katsitting (Nekositting)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Pirate! Harry, Siren! Tom, Sirens, Tomarrymort Secret Santa, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 01:10:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13136007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekositting/pseuds/Katsitting
Summary: There was no fear when his foot went forward. There was no hesitation when the shouts began to grow louder, when they began to sound more discernible in spite of the rich tenor urging him to submit.Harry. Come to me.He closed his eyes, and before he knew it, before he could think to stop, he was falling.





	Undertow

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoy. I had a blast writing this piece.
> 
> I used the lyrics of one of my favorite songs. It always makes me think of sirens and mermaids. So I recommend you give it a listen as you read, since the lyrics made their way into this story.
> 
> It's called Sirens of the Sea by Oceanlab. <3
> 
> Have a happy holiday, everyone!

It was the most beautiful sound Harry had ever heard in his life. The rich tenor of that voice like melted chocolate in the back of one’s tongue. Rich and heady, sweet, even when the taste should have been nauseating.

Harry didn’t know when he’d first started hearing it. When the silence of the waves crashing against the ship had melted into the sonorous sound of a voice. Urging and winding as it whispered along the shell of his ear; tempting him to slip into the dark waters beneath the ship’s hull.

It was maddening, like the throbbing ache of tooth pain in the back of one’s jaw. As if his molars no longer fit in his mouth; ready to split along his gums if he didn’t just give  _in._

It wasn’t his first trip in the ocean. He was a seasoned pirate. He knew the way of its waters. Knew its laws as if he’d been born straight from the womb with the knowledge implanted in his brain.

So the fact that something this beautiful could come from deep within the ocean’s depths was alarming. Or at least, it should have been.

He was notably empty of any fear. Adrenaline and the acerbic taste of anxiety absent even when the tempting sound brought him closer and closer, each time, to the ship’s edge.

The sound imbued in him a deep longing for something that he could not name. He couldn’t describe precisely what it was. Why he was so tempted each time the voice beckoned for him when he would lay back in his cot to sleep.

It was as if the voice were  _home._ Easily embodying everything Harry missed from a childhood he’d been ripped away from at the tender age of eight. He couldn’t explain the precise feeling, even if he were to be asked. It was just  _was._

And it was how Harry found himself nearing the water’s edge once more, the wind from the sails above him pushing his wild locks back and away from his face.

Harry shuddered when a cold wind cut along his cheeks, the bite seeping through the thin layer of his shirt and breeches. He wasn’t prepared at all for the elements. Practically naked as he stared off into the dense black, trying to make out the creature that just kept calling for him deep below.

But there was only darkness. It was an abyss that Harry had no hope of seeing through. Even with his glasses safely tucked away in his room, there was no way Harry could see anything on this cold night.

White breaths puffed from his lips as he stared into the ocean, eyes closing unwittingly when the voice continued to sing for him. He couldn’t make out the words, but they were beautiful, nevertheless. They were warm and inviting, the silent message that he sink into it growing more and more potent the longer he lingered by the ship’s wall.

The water was only a few feet away. All it would take were a few steps and he’d be falling,  _plunging_ into the sea.

But Harry restrained every urge beckoning him to do it. Ignored the way his stomach twisted with want, how his cheeks flushed brightly with desire.

He bit into his cheek, the taste of blood metallic and bitter. It should have jarred him from the haze that was slowly enveloping his vision, depriving him of the last vestiges of sight he had. The darkness circling around him should have forced him back, scared him away from the perturbing urges writhing in his insides like snakes .

His stomach quivered. The hairs of his arms stood on end. None of it was because of the frigid air cutting into his flesh, however. The voice just kept singing, it’s soft hiss breathing against the nape of his neck like a wet tongue, like dexterous fingers curling around his throat before--

“Harry?”

Harry was abruptly snapped from his daze. The ocean looked the same, but somehow, the warmth inviting him into its depths waned with the sound of Ron’s tired voice in the dark. Like the magic had suddenly been dispelled by the presence of someone clearly  _not_ a part of that world.

“Over here.” Harry called, turning his head to shoot the redhead a sheepish smile.

Ron looked worried. His lips were pinched into a thin line and his eyes, though clouded with sleep, were shrewd. As if he were trying to unveil some sort of secret from deep within Harry’s gaze.

“What are you doing out here? It’s bloody freezing.”

Harry shrugged at Ron’s question, unsure. He didn’t really know what it was about the ocean that drew him to it. Didn’t know why  _this_ particular part of the sea was so riveting when he should have been more than accustomed to the dangers of its depths.

It was stupid to hang around the edges of the ocean in the middle of the night. Any decent pirate with their head firmly attached to their shoulders knew this.

“...this is the fifth time this week, Harry. I think you should talk to the Captain about--.” Ron started, but Harry would not have it. They had come this far already. They couldn’t afford to turn back simply because he was feeling a bit wistful.

“No. Leave Hermione out of this. You know how she gets where I’m concerned.”

Ron’s brows pinched, but he didn’t say anything more. There was no convincing Harry when he had made up his mind. Ron knew him well enough to not even try, especially when they were so close to the hidden chamber they’d only heard rumors of.

They were chasing after the Chamber of Secrets. A tale sailors often told their children of. It was a promise for adventure. A dream that many sailors and pirates alike strived to achieve.

Though, there was doubt it even existed. It was a tale everyone knew of, but no one had ever found the chamber. Some had boasted to unveiling its secrets, to finding riches that could make a crew irrevocably rich.

The truth of those assertions were doubtful, however.

No one had ever given Hermione sufficient proof to show that the chamber had been found. No one had managed to convince even Harry of that fact, either. He wasn’t nearly as stubborn as she was about “concrete proof” and the like. But still, if not even he could believe something some silver-tongued pirate boasted of, then it was more myth than fact.

That didn’t deter Hermione in the least, thankfully. Harry was crazy enough to chase after the rumors on his own, if forced to.

Those concerns, in the end, were misplaced.

Harry didn’t need to chase after the rumors. Didn’t need to even contemplate a plan as foolhardy as that when Hermione gave in to the curiosity pirates were often notorious for. Aside from rule-breaking and cutting corners to get what they wanted, that is. Something that not even Hermione was above after being forced on the streets at a young age, as well. One of Harry’s first friends after he’d been orphaned.

Her curiosity had gotten the better of her, and now, here they were. Chasing after a myth in the hopes that their hard efforts would yield them the spoils promised. Their hard work bearing them fruit the more and more they progressed through the violent ocean.

It was still shocking to Harry just how far they’d made it on a simple hunch.

They were  _so_ close.

Though, nothing could have prepared them for just how true yet fantastical the tales of the mysterious chamber were.

The coloration of the waters surround their ship was evidence enough that they were nearing it. It was black as the darkest onyx. Almost jewel-like as one glanced into its depths in the middle of the day.

No one could explain why this part of the ocean was black, when all they’d ever seen was warm sea green and the rich, deep blues of crystalline waters. It was what the tale of the Chamber of Secrets declared, what Harry’s mum had told him about the elusive place before she had passed on.

_When you finally reach the twining seas, green and blue so clear your eyes gleam. There, beneath the rising sun, you’ll see waters blacker than your curling hair. Riotous and jewel-like, more beautiful than the richest obsidian…._

Everything his mum had told him was true. There was at least some truth to the stories told to naive children.

It had to mean something. This had to mean that they had made it farther than other crew had, before. Or there would, at least in his opinion, be more stories of a black sea that stole all the light from the hot sun.

“I know. I just--just something doesn’t feel right about the whole thing, you know?” Ron finally said, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. “You’ve been acting strangely ever since we crossed over from normal waters and into this dark shite.”

Harry sighed, both touched and frustrated with the obvious worry in Ron’s voice. Of course he knew that this was all strange. He had been hearing a voice calling to him ever since. A voice that no one else seemed to hear except for him, no less.

But he couldn’t tell Ron that. Harry knew that it would be the straw that broke the camel’s back. He’d have Hermione on his arse in seconds if he told Ron that. And that was the last thing he needed. Ron was his best friend, his right-hand man, but he’d sell him out to Hermione in seconds if he felt that Harry was in trouble. If saying something could protect Harry, somehow.

Harry nearly snorted at the thought.

Yes, Ron would definitely turn him over.

“Ron, you're starting to sound like a certain captain we know." Harry teased, unwilling to let the conversation continue for longer than it already had. It was bad enough that Hermione fussed over him over the simplest of things. He didn't need Ron on his case, as well.

Though Ron was definitely a better choice. Hermione would turn their arses around if things were getting twisted, and that was the last thing Harry wanted.

Especially if that meant never hearing that voice again. He needed to know where it came from. Needed to understand why it tempted him the way that it did, when no one else was affected by it at all. Or better yet, heard it. This was a serenade only meant for him, and Harry just wanted to know  _why._

"Oh, shove off, Harry. I'm just worried." Ron whined, cheeks brightening into a vivid pink. Any mention of Hermione tended to make the redhead fluster, and it was adorable in a way. It made derailing the man easier, in fact.

"Even using her excuses too." Harry continued and Ron opened his mouth to protest before shutting it. It was just too easy.

"God,  _fine._ Have it your way. See if I care the next time you look ready to jump into the ocean." Ron said before turning on his heel to saunter off. The bright of red Ron's ears made the drama of the whole thing flop, and Harry could not stop himself from laughing at his friend's expense.

"You're such a tosser. I swear." Ron shouted, the pout in the boy's voice making Harry laugh even harder.

His laughter didn't stop until Ron disappeared. The sound of Ron’s boots hitting the hardwood echoing until they abruptly cut off. Harry was certain the redhead was heading back to his bunk to sleep, but he could be wrong. Hermione and Ron had gotten awfully comfortable with one another ever since they’d set sail. Harry wouldn’t think it past Ron to head straight to Hermione’s quarters to go sulk to Hermione about Harry’s prodding.

After it was certain that Ron would not return, Harry turned his attention back to the ocean.

The ocean was as dark as he’d seen it last. The abyss stretched for miles, the bright moon above the only speck of color in the shadows.

It was an endless black he couldn't discern even as he tried to note the differences between the black of the night sky and the ocean below. Even with the full moon beating down against his neck, making his skin nearly incandescent beneath its rays, there was no real way to pinpoint where the ocean started and the sky began.

The voice did not begin singing again. It was only his breaths and the sound of the ocean beating against the ship staving off the silence.

Harry didn’t know how long he stood there, gazing into void. Cold air beating against his skin, fingers nearly numb as he rocked along with the movements of the ship.

It was only after his skin began to grow numb with the cold, and the tips of his fingers ached fiercely, that Harry finally tore his gaze away. The call of the sea was weaker than the promise of the warmth his cot could bring him.

There was no reason for him to be out there at all.

Harry spun on his heel and followed the same path Ron had used to head back to his bunk. The memory of that haunting voice faded to the back of his mind the further he went.

* * *

_Harry..._

The utterance came unbidden.

Harry did not know where it had come from, could not discern from where the voice had whispered his name so warmly. But he was certain he had heard it. There was no mistaking this fact when it was completely silent in his room and there was no one on that ship that sounded like  _that._

This baritone was unlike anything Harry had ever heard. It was starkly different from the singing voice that beckoned to him every morning and evening, when he was on the verge of falling asleep or waking. There was peace in the songs. A longing Harry couldn't hope to mimic, even with sorrow thick in his own voice.

But the voice that had spoken his name did not sound anything at all like the voice that sang to him. It was headier. Husky and gravely. There was no mistaking that the voice was that of a man's, but why this did not perturb him as it should, Harry could not explain.

Harry had only ever been with women before. The sound of their giggles when overjoyed, the sound of their cries when he burrowed himself deeply into their warmth, a pleasant sound for him.

His visceral reaction to this stranger's voice was...odd. It made his stomach tighten with desire. The very same hunger and longing that the singing voice often evoked in him.

It made his fingers itch to delve into his sleeping trousers to palm and stroke himself into completion. It made him want to bite his lip until blood pooled to the back of his throat because the voice  _wanted_ him to bleed. It wanted his pain and his pleasure. For him to unravel and splinter at the edges with a hunger Harry had no hope of making sense of.

Harry forced the impulse down, choosing instead to count the way his chest rose and fell with each shaky breath. Unsettled at just how easily just the mere utterance of his name could push him to the brink.

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five._

Harry did not know how long he counted for. It could have been seconds or minutes, but after a time, the strange want curling in his stomach finally began to settle. It was no longer burning him from the inside out. No longer threatening him to slip his fingers inside, and see for himself just how it would feel to touch himself to that voice.

To touch and play with his flesh as the voice whispered his name so sweetly against his ears...

With a heavy sigh, Harry rose from where he'd been lying to look out the small window just inches from his cot. It was small, barely the size of the top of a barrel, but still, it allowed him total access to the world outside.

Through this window, one could see the tops of the black sea. The undeniable tether between the starry sky and the inky waters more mesmerizing than it had been when he’d been standing outside, looking at the ocean from above. From here, there was no wall to overcome. No distance between himself and the sea.

If Harry wanted to, he could press his fingers into the glass and pretend that he were touching the water. It was just so close.

_Harry..._

The voice was heady, drawing him away from his thoughts more quickly than if one were to shout near his ear. It was instantaneous. The way Harry jerked to attention to chase after the croon that had called for him again.

Before he was even aware of it, he was rushing from out of his room and up the wooden stairs. The need he had only just managed to quell was writhing in his belly, as if he hadn't tried to calm it down before. It was alive in a way that Harry could not understand, did not  _think_ to understand.

Because there was simply no time for him to think about the voice and how his body reacted to it. He couldn't think past the screaming in the back of his head urging him to stop, to regain his senses. It was the voice of reason asking him to desist. It was the sound of Hermione's shouts pleading for him to stop.

But there was no listening to it. The sconces’ reflections on the innermost part of the ocean began melting into black. There was no light where Harry was going. He had lost control to the desire thrumming through his veins, to the voice that simply called his name in the shadows.

_Harry..._

It whispered, and Harry lip's parted to moan. He was suddenly hungry for it. Overwhelmingly so.

_Harry..._

He moved faster than he had earlier. He didn't know where he was even going anymore, couldn't tell the bow from the front of the ship if anyone asked him. It was all a blur, his breaths now loud gasps as he neared the only part of the ship where the wall did not separate him from the dark waters beneath.

_Harry..._

He stopped just short of the edge. The water was rushing rapidly, undulating in a manner that Harry could not describe. They were whirlpools of black and white foam. Endlessly moving, even as the ship had stopped sailing earlier that day when Hermione had decided that they were making no progress towards the chamber.

"Harry! What are you doing?"

The shout sounded far away. He couldn't recognize who was speaking, couldn't tell through the rush of blood pooling to his ears and down into the pit of his belly. Not when that rich baritone was in his head, whispering his name endlessly. Hungrily, as if it that creature had been waiting for Harry all his life.

And perhaps it was. Perhaps the reason why Harry was the only person that could hear it was because Harry was somehow special. Something that this seductive voice wanted to devour.

There was no fear when his foot went forward. There was no hesitation when the shouts began to grow louder, when they began to sound more discernible in spite of the rich tenor urging him to submit.

_Harry. Come to me._

He closed his eyes, and before he knew it, before he could think to stop, he was falling.

Cold air bit into his cheeks. It ate at him, burrowed itself deep into the marrow of his bones as he sailed almost ceaselessly in the air.

And then he hit something hard and unyielding, the pinpricks of pain sudden as he tried to make sense of where he was landing. He parted his lips to inhale a deep breath, but instead of cold air, salty water breached his esophagus.

He screamed underneath the rampant current, his senses slowly returning to him. The voice that had been calling his name fell silent, and with it, recognition of where Harry was returning to him.

Fear exploded in his chest when he couldn’t breathe. The ocean crushed him with the weight of it, and Harry could do nothing as he sank deeper into the abyss. His limbs jolted, but he couldn’t move. It was as though he were being weighed down, a dense stone lodged in his stomach that made him sink faster and faster into the water.

_Why is this happening to me?_

Harry opened his eyes, but he couldn't see anything through the burning saltwater. It was a deep maw where no light trickled from above, as though everything he knew had disappeared into nothing. It was an endlessness that screamed of finality, which spoke of death and grief.

Harry wanted it to all stop.

And then Harry, as if struck by lightning, began to struggle viciously beneath the current. Dread curled lowly in his stomach, the intoxicating sensation breathing new life into his limbs.

Harry writhed and kicked, his chest tight with his need to breathe. Utterly horrified by the nothingness surrounding him on all slides. He needed to get out, knew that if he didn’t, that if he remained where he was for a second longer that he’d lose himself.

A fate Harry was no stranger to--his parents had fallen prey to the caprices of the sea, while he had barely made it out alive to tell the tale. It would not stretch reason to assume that his fate would be the same if he didn’t act. If he didn’t find light somewhere in this void and follow it to the surface.

But there was no light for him to follow. No indication that he was even swimming up to the top or further down to the bottom of the ocean. It was chaos. He couldn’t sense the light, couldn’t open his eyes to seek out the bright and swollen belly of the moon.

Darkness was all he found. All he saw. All he felt digging into his ribs, lapping at his skin. Glutinous for the new prey that found itself lodged in its maw.

All was dark and disorienting, even as he kicked and fought off the hysteria that threatened to overtake him because  _death_ was enveloping him. It was undeniable.

Death was coming. It was there in the burning in his lungs. It was in the space between awareness and ignorance. Like the sand of an abandoned beach, waiting to be eroded in the the end by the ravages of time Harry was too aware of.

 _Take my hand, Harry..._ sang a familiar voice, cutting through the panic twisting his stomach into knots.

It was the same croon that lingered on the outer corners of his dreams, which danced along the edges of waking and sleep. It was...soothing, the way it drew out all of his worries from his mind. It was singing to him, repeating the words over and over again.

It lulled him to sleep, the adrenaline coursing through his veins tapering off.

Before he was consciously aware of it, he stopped moving. All the fight poured out of him like freshly brewed tea into a porcelain saucer.

He was floating in the dark, his lungs screaming and begging, but he couldn’t find a reason to be afraid. Not when that voice was singing. Not when something warm wrapped around his hand, tickling the skin inside his palm playfully.

_Take my hand, Harry, take my hand…_

Harry’s fingers closed around it unthinkingly, encasing the warmth. Trapping it within his trembling fingers, certain that this was what he had to do.

_Follow me, follow me, precious boy, let's go…_

And then, there was nothing.

Except for the voice that sang him to sleep.

* * *

Harry gasped awake, something lodged in the back of his throat. His chest ached fiercely, as if someone had decided in that moment to sit on his chest and crush him underneath his weight.

He coughed, expelling salt water and snot. It burned. His eyes stung fiercely when he tried to open his eyes. But he couldn't find the energy to glance around his immediate vicinity when he was vomiting the ocean onto his chest.

Twisting to his side, Harry continued to cough and sputter until the pressure between his ribs abated. His eyes fell closed with relief when it finally became easier to breathe.

_Shite._

It was several moments before Harry could think to open his eyes again. His vision was blurry, the world around him shadowed. But it was not the oppressive abyss Harry recalled he'd been trapped under earlier.

No, this darkness was lighter. Less final.

Instead of the black foam of a strong beer, this was like tea after milk had been added to sweeten the taste. The dark, murky water lightened. One’s reflection more readily discernible against the steaming liquid.

Frowning, Harry felt the ground beneath him with shaking fingers. It was cold and wet. The stone unlike the smooth, wooden floors of his ship.

The rough texture dug into the grooves of his back and into the palms of his hands. It cut against the back of his head, his hair a poor barrier from the abrasive ground beneath him.

This was neither the bottom of the ocean or his ship.

Harry had no bloody idea where he was, of how he even made it  _here._ Whatever that even meant.

He tried to remember how he even made it there. But his memories were like children chasing after butterflies in a open field. Just as he was nearing the memory, it was ripped away from his fingers; the butterfly floating past his open palms desperate for them.

All that he remembered was falling and sinking down into absolute darkness. He could still taste his panic at the back of his throat, could still feel the way his mind screamed for him to swim to the surface.

A surface that he could not find no matter how desperately he kicked beneath the frigid current.

Harry shuddered, the fleeting vision of the ocean enough to inspire the very same fear he’d experienced then. It flashed behind his eyelids, replaying over and over, the horror at waking up with his lungs screaming for air, enough to make him cough.

But that was where his memories ended.

Confusion melded with fear.

He didn't know  _how_ he found himself at the bottom of the ocean when consciousness found him. He didn't know  _why_ he suddenly stopped fighting and gave in to the terrifying power of Mother Nature. None of it made any sense to him.

It was an enigma.

There were gaps in his memories. Obvious splits in his recollection that no matter how hard he tried piece together, he could not make sense of. They were jumbled and lost. Just as he had been when the sea refused to spit him right back out when he had fallen in.

His efforts to remember made his head suddenly ache, and it was only after the ache turned into a deep seeded throb, that Harry finally stopped. It was useless. The more he tried to reach, the quicker it all faded.

And the last thing he needed was a headache on top of the pains already burrowed deep into his bones.

There was really only one option in sight. Only one choice Harry could make with only a couple of memories at his disposal.

Harry needed to explore the place. Needed to get to the bottom of the mystery himself.

And that meant moving, even if his body ached in ways that not even his exercise routine could inspire. It would pain him to move, but it was necessary. He would learn nothing laying on his back.

With that thought, Harry finally opened his eyes and sat up to assess his surroundings. In search of something he could use to clue him in on where he was.

The world around him was clothed in shadows. Stalagmites and stalactites peppering the chamber with sharp stone. They were wet, glistening like diamonds underneath the moonlight that trickled from somewhere beyond Harry's range of vision.

Sconces were set along the flatter sides of the walls, crackling quietly with a small fire that lit the cove up preternaturally. It did what the small sliver of moonlight failed to do.

Harry squinted to take in more of the foreign place.

Droplets echoed in the place. Ominous and eerie. The heavy silence almost holy as Harry tried to understand how he made his way into this place. Why there were lit sconces on either side of the cove and why, in spite of that, the cave looked mostly uninhabited.

Harry shifted his gaze, forcing himself to twist to take in more of the place. His body screamed at him for it, but he ignored it. His body felt like he’d gone several rounds with a boxer and had lost. It was awful, but he did it anyway, knowing that his discomfort would the least of his worries if he didn’t figure out a way out of this place.

There was a massive body of water at the furthest end. Black and still. Like a droplet of ink that swelled at the tip of a quill.

Harry's stomach jolted at the sight. A strange wariness burrowed itself into the base of his spine when the cave’s top was reflected easily by the black water. Though why Harry felt so unsettled by it was difficult to pinpoint.

It looked like any ordinary pool. Nothing stirred from inside it. It looked like nothing could survive in it, really.

Yet, Harry could not help the fear that curled in his stomach at seeing it. Something felt wrong about the pool.

As if it didn't belong in this cove. As if there was something there, just beyond Harry’s line of sight, waiting to snatch him by his ankles, and drag him inside.

Slowly, Harry rose from the ground. Muscles sore and stiff, enough so that he nearly tripped on his feet when he rose too fast.

Harry's brow furrowed when his bare feet touched the wet stone beneath him. Uncertain of when he had lost his boots.

Had he taken them off before he’d jumped off the ship? Harry couldn’t remember.

"Hello?" Harry called, wincing when his voice echoed in the cove. It was loud, almost sonorous as it rang through the different hidden niches in the cave.

He hadn't intended to be as loud as it was. There was no telling what could be lurking in the cave along with him. Or someone, considering he had woken up here. It was only meant to be enough to catch the attention of the person that had saved him, because there was little doubt in Harry’s mind that that had been what had happened.

There was no way he could have swam through the ocean and ended up here. Someone had brought him here. Though why anyone would do that for a pirate was still a mystery. Pirates were the scourge of the sea. Detested and persecuted, even when harmless.

It made him all the more wary of the situation.

Harry shivered. He was soaked to the bone, hair matted on his head with feet bare on the cold ground.

A heavy silence settled around him.

He waited for a moment before stepping further into the room, avoiding the obsidian pool like the plague. He had a bad feeling about it, and if there was one thing he trusted more than Hermione’s judgment and Ron’s strategic decisions combined, it was his own intuition. He’d already fallen into an ocean blacker than the scorched ashes of an oil lantern, he wasn’t going to get himself into trouble a second time.

He had nearly died once already. He didn’t need to have a go at death a second time.

Harry watched the water warily as he walked around it.

The pool looked bottomless. Even if he were still wearing his glasses, if his vision weren’t as piss poor as it was, he doubted he could see more than the top of it. It was dense like the oil he’d pour into the lanterns every morning on the ship.

The water looked dead.

_Just like you should have been._

Harry ripped his gaze away from the pool to take in more of the cove. He was curious to learn more about the place after he'd woken up in a less-than-comfortable state, even if he wasn’t necessarily thrilled to have woken up in such a place.

The massive cave resembled the mouth of a hungry monster. It was gargantuan, the sheer size of it making Harry’s average frame look small. Fragile, even.

If Harry squinted, the tapered rocks at the top could even be mistaken for teeth.

It was an unsettling thought; that this place was not really a cave, but the mouth of a monster that had devoured him as he sank in ocean.

A sliver of fear twisted in Harry’s stomach before he stamped it down, deciding in that moment that he should start moving. The place was creepy, and the longer he stayed, the more perturbed he would become.

Harry walked past the pool, his shoulders slumping visibly with relief once he cleared it.

The whole place set his nerves on edge, but nothing beat the way that water just made his hackles rise. His nerves fluttered about him, as though they were rampant winds twining against his hair rather than along his spine.

He just needed to get away, and that was exactly what he was doing; even when, with every step he took, a sharp pain shot up from the arch of his foot. The floor was littered with tiny pebbles, and it was impossible to avoid them. They were like tiny teeth biting into his toes, and Harry grimaced, wishing that he still had his boots on. That he hadn’t lost them when he’d nearly drowned earlier.

After walking for several seconds, Harry noted how the walls became flatter and flatter the further he delved. The shadows flickered, dancing along the gravel-like stone. The light from the sconces kept the cave lit enough for him to pass, but it only just reached this corner of the cove.

And that was when Harry spotted it, nearly tripping on his feet in surprise.

There was a wide hole at the far end, a blurry light glowing from inside. It was nearly green, with the way the light reflected against the stone. It shimmered like moonstones, and Harry was immediately drawn in.

Harry followed it.

He didn’t know where it led, but it was better than lingering where he was. He just needed an explanation. Something to fill those gaps that gnawed at him like a sharp press of a blade to his throat.

Staying where he was would eventually lead to him meeting his mysterious savior. But what if the person had less than good intentions? What if the reason he had woken up alone was because the stranger had searched him for valuables, and, upon finding none, since Harry had drowned while still dressed in his bloody pajamas, abandoned him?

As lovely as it would be to remain, to avoid the stabbing pinpricks of rocks against his bare feet, it would mean him staying near that inky pool, and he would much rather get lost somewhere else in the bloody place than take his chances. Better that he find his would-be savior, than to be caught by surprise.

Harry’s breath hitched when he ducked under the hole, and instead of walking into another massive cavern, he found himself in a narrow hallway. The walls on either side of him so tightly packed together that Harry doubted a monster could squeeze through it.

It was just wide enough for him to fit through, but no more than that. He was certainly lucky he was on the scrawnier side of things, because he knew for a fact he wouldn’t have fit through if he had been several pounds heavier.

Harry craned his neck, to make out just how much room he had and whether he would need to crawl the rest of the way through. It wasn’t a thrilling thought. His feet already hurt, and having to bear through the same thing but on his knees, well. Harry would prefer to live without that experience.

Thankfully, that wasn’t necessary. The ceiling of the small hall was a good few meters over his head. The closest stalactite still far enough away that there was no danger of him bashing his head into the thing.  

With a deep sigh, Harry stood to his full height and began to walk once more.

His footsteps rang with his steady steps, his breaths coming slowly and evenly. He kept a careful eye on the other side of the hall; the green glow at the far end of it beckoning.

It was far from safe. Harry did not know where this would lead, but the light was promising.

Harry was not naive enough to think that this was the path to the exit, but he was certain that this was a good  _start._ He could be well on his way to it. He just needed to be hopeful. To keep his spirits lifted even when his own confusion and his disheveled state left him anxious.

Harry suddenly stopped. Every nerve in his body sprang to life, suddenly awakened by a delicious voice. A sound that slithered across his ear drums and burrowed itself into his brain, as though hot lips had grazed the shell of his ear and sang straight into the flesh.

_Take my hand, Harry, take my hand…_

The voice was deep and warm, the longing woven between each syllable enough to make Harry’s teeth ache. He was overcome with longing, the dulcet sound making his steps more desperate. Frantic and needy, as he was certain the voice had come directly from the other end of the hall.

The glow was mesmerizing, and Harry no longer cared where he stepped. So long as he could reach the voice and the promise in its depths, Harry would do  _anything._

_Follow me, follow me, precious boy, let's go…_

Harry ran.

His feet slapped against the floor, the wet ground making his movements clumsy. He spared a thought to being more careful, to watching where he stepped, lest he fall head first and lose several of his teeth, but he couldn’t be bothered.

There was something pooling low in his stomach. A heat similar to that of the morning’s sun on bare skin. Like he were beneath its luminous glow, and enjoying himself on the sand of an empty beach.

It tasted like  _home._ It made his body tight with want, with a need that twisted his insides into knots.

_To the sand, to the sand, the purest sand..._

Harry remembered how the grains felt between his toes, how they slipped into his shorts when he sat by the waters. The memory flashed, picturesque and clearer than it had any right to be. Not when he was as blind as he was, not when he hadn’t worn glasses on the day that his parents took him to the beach to enjoy a rare moment together…

Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, but still, he did not stop running.

_Into the sea, into the sea, yes, let's go..._

Harry didn’t stop until he reached the other side. Until his legs gave out beneath him, no longer able to hold himself steady when he was splitting at the seams.

But instead of the familiar rough stone that had cut up his feet to bits, the throbbing melding seamlessly with the daze clouding his senses, they hit polished rock. Smooth and almost glass-like as he pressed his hands against the wet ground to make sense of it all.

His head felt as though it were being cracked open, the rich tenor urging him to move, to  _rise_ from where he had fallen. It didn’t say it in as many words, didn’t order him so much as compelled him to go.

And Harry went, a slave to the sound that eroded his free will.

_Leaving reason far behind…_

Harry rose from the ground, legs unsteady as he began to move further down the chamber, the gold and glittering jewels at either side of him nothing when that voice continued to beckon.

_Nothing here is cruel or kind…_

He stepped on metal, the gold biting into his feet as he followed the singing to the end of the massive space. At any other moment, Harry would have stopped to admire the sheer opulence of the room, he might have even stopped to wonder just how to take everything back home to divide between his crew.

But Harry could not be bothered now. Not when he was getting closer, the singing growing louder and louder the quicker he moved.

_Only your desire to set me free…_

Harry’s vision swam, the kaleidoscope of color making him dizzy once he’d reached just where the voice urged him to go. The ground seemed steady beneath him, but with how his world spun around him, he couldn’t be certain.

There were greens and golds, silvers and reds. The colors danced with one another. An endless maze that Harry had no way of discerning when his legs finally collapsed onto the ground, a plush carpet beneath him.

Where the carpet had come from, Harry could not explain. Everything was fuzzy, the world bleeding and melting into pools of nothing, the longer the voice continued to sing to him.

_Let us lie here all alone…_

Harry was floating, his mind drowning in the reverberations of that voice. He hardly noticed when his back hit the ground, when his body sank into the carpet.

None of it registered.

Not the gold of the riches in the chamber. Not the grandiosity of the place. Not the skeletons that reclined against the gold, desiccated bodies wound around the piles.

None of it mattered when this voice wanted him, when it made him feel  _whole._ When it filled him to the brim with memories of a family he had long since lost to the sea.

_Worn away like river stone…_

There was a faint rustling to his side, but Harry did not look. He couldn’t. He was just too dizzy, too weak. He couldn’t have lifted up his head, even if he had wanted to.

Then, Harry felt rather than saw, fingers in his hair, a warm hand threading through the strands almost reverently.

_Let us be the sirens of the sea…_

Harry sighed into the touch, unable to help the soft noise of pleasure that escaped his throat when something touched him at the center of his chest, slipping inside the over-sized night shirt he had worn to bed.

The fabric clung to his skin, the contrast of that warm hand with the cold, wet shirt pressing against the grooves of his muscles, delicious. Harry didn’t mind when the hand tore the fabric from his chest, when those fingers skirted up his quivering belly and towards his chest as if trying to memorize all the skin revealed.

_I cannot resist your call…_

The hand suddenly gripped Harry’s chin, turning his head to one side, unable to do anything when his mind felt so  _good._ When his skin was burning, melting and oozing like chocolate on a pink tongue.

_I cannot resist your call…_

Harry’s eyes slipped open, sensing a burning stare against his face, and his breath halted.

The hands that touched him belonged to the most beautiful man Harry had ever seen. The cloudiness clinging to his vision falling away, almost as though the beauty this man possessed could grant him the sight his own genetics had long denied him.

His skin was pale, almost bone white beneath the white light glowing brightly above his head. Dark hair clung to his head, curling at the ends defiantly, as if the creature had racked his fingers through the strands endlessly, nervously or tiredly.

Dark eyes stared back at his own. Endless like the ocean that had swallowed him whole and nearly drowned him. It was unsettling, how they gleamed with both fondness and mischief. How the creature looked at him as if he were a long lost friend, and not the perfect stranger Harry was certain he was.

But nothing was stranger than how, in spite of common sense, Harry enjoyed the attention. Relished the way the creature suddenly leaned down to look more closely.

Harry was lost.

Pink lips the color of sea shells, plump and wet drew Harry’s gaze almost against his will, ripping him away from the way the man’s perfect lashes and how they readily framed his jewel-like eyes.

It was obscene just how beautiful he was, just how drunk Harry felt with the sheer magnetism of the creature’s appearance and the song that tumbled from the man’s lips.

The sound drew forth another sharp sound from Harry’s lips, his tongue falling out of his mouth when the creature pushed a finger inside, teasing along his tongue. It tasted of iron and something else. Something sweet Harry could not place in that moment.

Not when heat flooded up to Harry’s cheeks, and pooled low on his stomach, his fingers itching to palm the stiff member jutting proudly between his thighs.

And then, the hand playing with his hair tugged him hard, forcing his head against something firm and warm.

The man stopped singing, but Harry hardly noticed.

Harry  _knew_ that he should be frightened. That he should be struggling furiously, asking for answers to the multitudes of questions he had, but couldn’t bring himself to ask even one.

“Harry...Potter.” The creature said, and all the hairs on Harry’s arms stood on end.

If his singing was seductive, then his real voice, his  _speaking_ voice, was absolute sin.

“At last...you’ve come.”

Harry’s brows furrowed, his senses slowly returning to him. It was slow trickle, like wax droplets dripping from a lit candle.

And then the man leaned in, dragging Harry close enough to smell something sweet in the man’s skin. It was like freshly baked cookies, it was the chocolate drizzling atop of a sweet. It was everything Harry could ever want, could ever need.

His mouth watered.

“W-who?” Harry asked, eyes fluttering shut when the man’s nose skirted along his face, blowing warm air against his flesh.

“...Voldemort, the rightful heir of the Chamber of Secrets, and your  _Lord.”_

Harry’s limbs shook.

His thoughts were jumbled. Like a child had pieced together a puzzle with all the pieces in their wrong places. Disjointed and wrong.

It took him too long to gather them, the sound of the man’s voice somehow scattering his common sense.

“H-how do you know my name? Just who  _are you,_ and why am I here?” Harry asked, voice wavering when Voldemort tilted his head curiously.

There was something in his gaze that cut through the haze lingering at the corners of his mind. It was predatory, the way Harry thought starving animals looked at their prey before pouncing.

It set every single nerve in Harry’s body on edge. And yet, Harry remained rooted in place. The occasional tremor of his shoulders was the only sign that he was capable of movement.

“Your name has been whispered throughout the seas...tumbling out of careless lips. Boasting of strength, of your kindness...of your devotion. The pirate that refuses to abandon his crew...”

Confusion bloomed on Harry’s face. It didn’t make any sense to him. It answered none of his questions.

The man smiled at him again, and the hand playing with his hair softened to light caresses. It felt like how Harry imagined Hermione often pet the fur on Crookshanks’ back. It was exactly like how she would often card her fingers through it. Gentle and careful. As if concerned that at any moment the cat would rear its claws back and scratch its owner’s hand.

“T-that doesn’t tell me very much.”

Voldemort did not speak. He stared at Harry quietly, as if he found everything about him fascinating.

Like a specimen pinned to a table and opened with a precise cut down the middle. Like the corpses Harry had seen while living on the streets, their innards splayed out for the world to see.

Nausea lodged itself in his throat, and he tried his best not to vomit.

The unease that had disappeared the moment the creature had begun to sing suddenly reared its ugly head. The memories of nearly drowning at the sound of that beautiful voice. The feeling of something warm--  _a hand_ \--wrapping around his palm before his consciousness fled, like a hot blade to butter.

The fear. The discomfort. The intoxication.

Everything came back to him, and with it, Harry’s strength returned with a vengeance.

Harry shoved himself away from the creature, all too aware now that this man, that this  _thing,_  was no man at all. He rose and created as much space as possible between himself and this monster.

It wasn’t human. The power that it contained in his vocal chords was nothing of this world.

It possessed. It enthralled. It mesmerized.

Harry needed to get away.

“ _You!”_

Harry shouted, uncaring of the fact that Voldemort did not react to his shouting. He was still smiling, the twist enough to make Harry want to hurl something. To throw anything that was within his vicinity.

This  _bastard_ had nearly killed him. He had nearly taken his life. For what? Harry wanted to throttle him.

“You never would have come willingly.”

Harry blinked owlishly, temporarily derailed from his rage at the almost blasé way the creature had said it.

_What the fuck?_

“So you kidnapped me instead? Nearly  _drowned_ me just to drag me back to t-this place?” Harry sputtered, gesticulating wildly.

Harry couldn’t believe it.

“I had forgotten just how vulnerable humans were. It was not my intention to do you harm.”

Harry laughed sardonically, unable to help himself when Voldemort did not look nearly as apologetic as he should have. He looked far from it, in fact. Even if there was a hint of regret in the way his lips turned downward into a grimace, Harry doubted he was too concerned.

Harry did not doubt Voldemort would do this over again. Take the same risks if it had meant getting him what he wanted. It was obvious in the set of the man’s jaw, even if he tried to contain it.

“Bullshit,” Harry hissed, lips twisting into a sneer when Voldemort did not flinch at the way his voice echoed in the massive space. He looked at Harry curiously, eyes steadily taking Harry in, from the riotous curls at the top of his head, to his bare feet on the floor.   

Harry had never felt more exposed in his life. Like Voldemort was seeing right through him, cutting him open to reveal just what made him tick.

It was unsettling, and Harry tried his best to ignore the fact that he was half-naked and alone. That Voldemort, at any point, could turn his brain into putty with just the sound of his voice.

Not that his regular voice was not as mind-numbing as when he sang. It still made his muscles quiver, but at least his mind was his own.

“Harry…” Voldemort purred, slowly rising from where he had sat on the carpet floor.

Harry stopped breathing.

Voldemort was naked. Completely starkers in the middle of the chamber.

How had he missed this? How had he failed to notice that the hard flesh he had rested his head on was this man’s  _lap?_

“Stay back!” Harry shouted, face flushing furiously.

He stepped back, and nearly tripped. Suddenly realizing that he was on a platform. That the floors in the chamber were uneven.

Harry cursed and had turned his attention for a moment to survey just where to step to avoid breaking his neck, when it happened.

Voldemort was on him.

There was no warning. No sound of feet slapping on stone. No rustling in the air.

A strong arm slipped around his waist, caging him in. A knee slipped between his parted legs, while another curled around his ankle to throw him entirely off balance.

Harry grabbed onto Voldemort’s shoulders to steady himself, unable to stop himself from doing so when he’d felt his stomach churn with the sensation of falling. Certain that if he didn’t, he’d bash his head onto the ground.

Voldemort had nearly drowned him once, whether intentional, or not. It wasn’t off the mark to assume that Voldemort would bash his head into the ground, if that meant getting what he wanted.

Whatever it was that Voldemort wanted. Something that Harry still did not know.

“Harry, why would I do that? Why would I let you go, when you were promised to me? When your parents paid the ultimate price to the sea to have their son saved?”

Harry stopped moving.

His parents? What the bloody hell did Voldemort know about his parents?

“Ah, that certainly caught your attention.”

Harry twisted in the man’s grip to shoot him a glare, unable to do anything else with the way Voldemort had grabbed him. Kicking the man off was impossible. Punching him, when he was sure Voldemort would drop him from the high platform to the ground below, out of the question.

Harry didn’t have many options to choose from, so he willed himself to remain still. To look unaffected in spite of the arm wrapped tightly around his waist, burning through the thin shirt like a brand, and the thigh pressed firmly between his own, which rubbed him just  _so_ each time the man shifted.

Harry grit his teeth before opening his mouth to speak.

“What do you mean, about my parents?”

Voldemort’s small smile broke into a wide grin, the mischief in the man’s eyes making Harry’s stomach twist nervously.

“Your parents...my precious boy, sacrificed themselves to save you from drowning.”

Harry was shaken.

It couldn’t be true, could it? Voldemort had to be lying to him somehow. Trying to coax him into living with him freely. There was simply no way his parents could have given themselves up to rescue him.

“You’re lying.”

Voldemort lips twitched in amusement, but he abstained from laughing outright. Harry didn’t know whether to be worried or irked by this fact.

“I would never lie to you, Harry. Not when you’re my equal in every way...my other half.”

Harry’s stomach roiled, the honesty in Voldemort’s tone and in the way the man’s face sobered, more frightening than if he had bared his teeth and bitten him.

_Oh god._

“Have you ever wondered why you always felt drawn to the ocean...why you followed the same path as your parents, in spite of the horrors found at the bottom of this abyss? Have you not asked yourself why you were so besotted by the tale of the Chamber of Secrets, why you were bent on searching for it, when no one else believed the stories?”

The color of Harry’s face drained, recalling the almost obsessive way he had looked into every tale about the place. More so than even Hermione had, pouring over books and speaking to complete loony bins to simply learn more.

Harry had always admired the sea. Always felt home, even when it was completely irrational to admire it the way that he did.

Where everyone else was frightened by the prospect of chasing after a mysterious chamber, Harry had been thrilled. Where the tales elaborated on the monsters lurking in the Black Sea, as it was so eloquently dubbed, Harry had been curious and interested in learning for himself if all those stories were, in fact, true.

Harry had chased after the ocean for as long as he could remember. It never crossed his mind that his parents had made a deal with some monster.

Voldemort pressed Harry nearer to him, face suddenly so close that Harry, if he desired it, could kiss him. Could find out for himself if the man tasted as sweet as he smelled, if he felt as good as the singing had promised he would.

Harry refrained, afraid of what it could mean.

“Don’t you see, Harry? You were never meant to live. You were meant to die with your parents at the bottom of the ocean. Your body never to be found, alongside your family’s.”

Harry trembled when Voldemort’s grip tightened, nearly suffocating.

“In fact, you never made it out alive. Your heart stopped beating, your lungs filled to the brim with saltwater…”

Harry wanted Voldemort to stop talking. He wanted him to stop telling him this. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t  _need_ to know that he was--

“But I saved you. Just as your parents and I bargained for at the bottom of the ocean.”

Harry couldn’t believe it. He barely registered the man’s purr of approval when he slumped into his arms, disbelief draining all the desire to fight from limbs.

“They were beyond saving.”

Harry shuddered when Voldemort’s voice dropped an octave, when it became so soft that Harry had to strain to hear him.

“But you, Harry... you fought beautifully against the allure of death...I couldn’t simply allow it to have you when you looked at me, unafraid.”

Harry swallowed hard when Voldemort’s hand slid across his cheek, reverence and awe glittering like jewels in the depths of his eyes.

The smile that had adorned his face had gone.

Now, all that remained was this desperate hunger. A longing that Harry did not understand.

He was just a man. He was a human, as Voldemort had said. He was no one.

Why did Voldemort save him once before? Why had Voldemort brought him to  _life_ when Harry had already died?

“The moment I looked at you, I felt peace for the first time since I’d taken the throne. There was no selfishness in your gaze. No desire to acquire some sort of favor from me. No, you hardly spared me a glance. You, a mere  _child,_  did not care for the most powerful creature in the sea. You could only focus on your parents...you wanted  _nothing_ from me.”

Harry gasped when Voldemort bridged the gap between their faces to press his forehead against his. It was a tender gesture, something Harry had not expected from a creature as powerful as this.

“And I wanted you to look at me. I wanted you to turn to me and beg me to spare your life. Just as all others that called for me did. But you didn’t, even as the light began to fade from your eyes...”

Harry remained silent, watching the man with bated breath.

“I wanted you, Harry. Beyond all reason, I wanted to keep you at my side. Even if it meant prying you away from death’s maw and bonding you to me irreparably.”

Harry was thrown. He didn’t know what he could possibly say. Didn’t know where to even beginning asking questions.

What did he mean by bonding? What kind of reason was this? It just...Harry couldn’t make heads or tails of this explanation.

Harry made to speak, but Voldemort suddenly leaned in to press his lips against his. It silenced all the thoughts in Harry’s head. None of the questions he had wanted to ask made it to his tongue when he was breathing in the sweet air escaping Voldemort’s lips.

Harry’s gums ached with it. His stomach wrenched uncontrollably, and he stopped thinking all together.

“You are  _mine_. Mind, body, soul. My power lives inside you, yearning to return to its Lord. I allowed you to live your life as a normal man, but my patience is not endless, Harry.”

The lips moved softly against his, and Harry felt the way it burned its way down his spine, lapping against each of the grooves of his vertebrae.

It was intoxicating.

Voldemort’s singing paled in comparison to the way his insides curled, heat unlike anything Harry had ever experienced before making his toes curl.

“Even if it takes centuries...even if it means bringing this world to its knees...I will show you that your place is not on dry land…”

Harry eyes fluttered shut, his tight grip on the man’s shoulders becoming frantic. He was no longer interested in pushing him away. The same fire, the same yearning, the same need was splitting him in two, and Harry could not fight it.

Not at that moment. Not with Voldemort’s mouth touching his, filling him up, making him  _whole._

“...But here, with me.”


End file.
